A Parable -NaNo2010

(another story, this one is told by Gara Sarah)

“Once, near the beginning, a man went in search of his daughter. She had been stolen away from him in the shadows of a careless night.


He searched through ancient forests and young fields. He passed through the labyrinth of the lonely mountain. He answered seven riddles and walked freely through an enchanted garden.


Oh, what joy when finally word of his daughter safe and not far off reached his ears. He cried for joy and his strength was renewed.


But when he came to the great city where she now lived, she did not remember him. She remembered no theft in the night. Her young mind was enthralled by the glories and mysteries of the city.


She told him of a handsome man who had come to court her. The father reacted with rage and told his daughter she would not be bonded to any man of this foul city. He took her by force away from the place. He did not let her say farewell to her love.”


Gara Sarah paused to gauge her audience’s attentiveness. Both seemed to be listening very well. Hm. Unusual.


“The father did not realize, in taking his daughter by force from one whom she loved, he had caused her heart to tear away from her body. He had his daughter with him again but she lived as one who has died.


She ate what was put before her. She helped with the household chores. She washed herself when instructed.


But she never laughed. She never cried. She never raged. She never dreamed.


The father wondered what enchantment had been laid upon her. He called for the trusted and wise but they could do nothing for her. He despaired. He begged for aid from the foolish and reckless who mixed potions and muttered incantations to no avail.


The father sent word to travel as far as may be by land, by air, by sea, by unearthly channels and magical means to let it be known that any one who could restore his daughter could claim anything the father had within his power to grant.


But long before the father sent out his message, the beloved of the daughter had not been idle. Great was his grief when he found she had been taken away! When he heard it was her own father, a true and worthy man, who had stolen her, the man was troubled and doubted what he should do.


Then he found her heart, torn and trembling. He vowed that nothing would keep him from returning the precious heart to the one he loved. The journey was hard. He fought seven dread beasts. He nearly perished of thirst in an enchanted garden. He passed through the labyrinth of the lonely mountain. He walked through fields of harvest and new sprouting forests. And he came to the land where his beloved lived as less than a wraith.


The beloved of the daughter did not know of the father’s offer. He went humbly to this man whom had scorn him unseen and asked permission to see the daughter. The father, worn and impoverished by countless charlatans and helpless heroes, wondered at the diffidence of this young man.


-If you can save my daughter, please do not hesitate but go at once.- He said.”

Dance! -NaNo2010

At first, the crowd only watched. Then one little girl began to bounce and clap her hands. Keary played his fiddle straight to her and she giggled in delight. When he moved back, she grabbed the hands of two other girls and the three spun in a wild circle. The dance spread from there until Keary had to dodge and weave in his own dancing to avoid hitting another of the spinning high-stepping stomping leaping dancers.

the missing Heir -NaNo2010

“Anwell! Keary! Bryce!” Drystan skidded to a stop in front of them and crouched down, “a message came from Na-Torral. We would have missed it but I was back here before any of you and thought to escape the city for a spell. As it was, I heard only the second repetition.”


“A message?” asked Anwell.


“What did it say?” Keary rocked forward onto one knee and leaned forward intently.


“Cullen sent it. He says the Heir is dead and we must all return for an assembly in thirteen days.” Drystan bounced on his heels.


Bryce might have fallen down if he had not been already seated. The heir dead! An assembly!


“How did Cullen get such news? He has had no part in the searching.” Keary said.


“Natan is dead?” Anwell didn’t sound as though she believed it.


“No,” said Drystan, “I think he is lying.”


Something flickered in Keary’s eyes, “provocative words, Drystan.”


“Do you trust him, Keary?” Drystan challenged. “Or you, Anwell? He doesn’t travel as all vagabonds do and his words are always coated with honey. He lies.”


“Perhaps, he does.” Keary said. “Either way, we must leave at once to reach the capital of Na-Torral.” He stood, offering a hand to Anwell.


“No,” Drystan countered again, “I think we should go farther west.”


This time, Keary and Anwell said nothing, waiting Drystan’s explanation.


“The Heir lives. Cullen’s assembly is a farce, a false show in opposition to the heirship but without the heir we can say nothing against him. We must have evidence to counter whatever he has dredged up.” Drystan spoke confidently without a trace of his usual teasing humour. “So we must find the Heir first and take him with us back.”


“Drystan, what knowledge do you possess that you can speak of finding the Heir as if the vagabonds have not searched for days upon days –since you were a toddling boy!- for him.” Anwell’s words were sharp but her expression was frank.


“The Heir lives and he is somewhere west of here.” Said Drystan, “this I know. I can’t speak for any of those who have spent days upon days searching.”


“Watch your tone, Drystan,” warned Keary.


Drystan bowed his head slightly.


“You would have us travel into the outlands of Na-Gren for a… hunch? Drystan, it is no small matter to miss an assembly.”


“It will take longer than thirteen days for everyone to gather and even with the baby we travel faster than most.” Bryce pointed out. Drystan drove him crazy sometimes but Bryce had never seen the older boy so serious about anything.


Anwell spread her hands over her stomach. Keary placed one of his hands over hers, “There is that to consider as well. The outlands are no place for a birthing.”


“I don’t mean for us to wander for days.” Drystan said, “No more than a night, a day and a night.”


“You are very certain.” Anwell said.


Drystan shrugged, “I know it.” He took a deep breath, “If you will not go, then I will break my bond with you and go myself.”


“Drystan!” Anwell looked as though he had slapped her.


“It is not only your own word, you would break, Drystan, to separate would break ours as well. You do yourself and us and Bryce a grave injustice to suggest such a thing.”


Drystan’s face fell, “Forgive me, but you don’t understand that I must go. The knowing grows every moment and with it a burning urgency. Some opportunity is slipping away as we debate. I came back to speak with you because of our bond but I must go.”


Something passed between Anwell and Keary. “A day and a night and a day, then we turn back.” Keary said. He shouldered his small pack, “Let’s be off then.”


Drystan grinned and seemed more like himself. He pushed Bryce with his shoulder as he passed. “Ready to be off the highway, cousin?” He swung his smaller drum forward and tapped a quiet beat on it as he led the way.


Bryce followed behind Anwell and Keary. A tingle ran down his spine. Could they really be the ones to find the Heir? What would it mean if they did? What kind of king would the lost Heir be?

Story within a story from chapter 4 - NaNo2010

“Once near the beginning, there was a boy who couldn’t hear the music inherent. When his mother hummed or his father danced or his sister played counterpoint on her pipe, he only heard their half of the melody and rhythm. He couldn’t join in.



“He asked them how they heard the music, what it was like, but their explanations didn’t make sense. His sister said it was like the smell of the ground rain, rising up from below, and she just had to keep her feet bare to hear it well.


His father said it was like the feel of the breezes, sometimes soft and sometimes wild. He heard it best when he closed his eyes.


His mother said it was like breathing, something always happening whether you noticed it or not.


The boy tried his hardest to find the music. He would go out alone and dig his toes in the ground. He’d close his eyes and feel the wind. He would breathe deep and shallow, fast and slow. But the music never came.


And the longer he waited and hoped and searched, the more lost he felt. He knew he was meant to dance and sing. His family pounded drums and sang for him but he knew it was only an echo of what they themselves heard.


So he left.


He left his family and his home and everything except the clothes on his back and the hope in his heart.”

Hope - from chapter 1- NaNoWriMo 2010

Grey orangle light filters through the trees and eases the shadows by the time we break from the tree line up on the High Ridge.


The effects of the water have mostly worn off and I feel grateful to rest as we caome to the cliff’s edge. The wood stretchs out behind us, covering the backside of the hill. Below us, Holen lies quiet and deceptively at ease. For a moment, I wish the peace was real but that would mean taking back all the events of the last seven days. I can’t honestly wish that. I wouldn’t take back from Nathan what he has only begun to discover.


Even the murder?

He did not murder her!


“Nathan liked this place.” Nick interrupts my internal quarrel. He leans forward at the very edge of the bluff. His precarious balance makes me feel lightheaded.


“He did.” The truth of the comment strikes me then. “How did you know?”


The old man shruggs slightly and his body sways to counter balance the gesture, “You can see this ridge from his room.”


I picture the view from his window. He is right but he hasn’t really answered the question. Just how well had Nick known Nathan before he came to Holen? “Did he like high places when he was a child?”


“Perhaps.” Nick says, noncommittal again. “I had thought to come up here first before I came across your bit of skullduggery.”


I think back to the tattooed man at the well and the creepy call. “It served its purpose.”


“Perhaps,” Nick frowns, “even a little delay can help… or hinder. He has a night’s start in front of us all.” He took a breath and I knew the question was coming again. “Tell me, adalan, did Nathan leave as a fugitive, or not?”


Not the question I had expected. I would have taken offense but there was no slight in the way he asked it. He truly wondered.


“The council would mark him a fugitive.” I say. The light continues to grow. The council would be ensconced with Jared now to deliberate pursuing Nathan.


“And you?”


You are not a murderer, Nathan. “I would call him seeker.” I say at last.


“And what does he seek?”


“Sneaky,” I reply, “isn’t that another way of asking where he is going?”


“I have not passed judgment on him yet.”


I look away from Holen to face Nick, “but you would put him on trial.”


Nick meets my gaze, “He confessed to murder.”


How did Nick know that? The simple words pierce my confidence. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what he said.”


“Your entire council witnessed his confession. It is recorded in their meeting records. Do you accuse them of falsehood?”


I turn away. I can hear Nathan’s voice in my head, speaking the words I refuse to believe. I swallow and blink back tears. “Not of falsehood, I think they misunderstand.”


“You weren’t there.”


My own words turn on me. “No. I wasn’t.”


“I read the record. There is not much room for ambiguity in what he said.”


I know my anger towards Nick is irrational but I can’t keep the hot flush from spreading up my face. I ball my fists, missing the reassuring feel of my stave. “You said, you haven’t judged him. Why not if the evidence is so clear?”


“I try to make a point of not judging a man in his absence.” Nick’s voice remains impassive, making my venom even more shameful. “You seem very certain of his innocence, in spite of his own words, why?”


I open my mouth and press it shut again. There is no contempt in his statement, only puzzlement. My anger ebbs almost as quickly as it had flamed, leaving only sorrow.


How can I explain something to him that I can’t explain to myself?


My legs refuse to hold me and I sink into the grass. I hold the grief in, let it wind through the whole of me unreleased. If I cry now, I don’t know when I will stop.
Nick kneels down near me. Errol whines and whirrs deep in his throat.
“You love him.” He says.


“My heart is held in the palm of his hand .” I reply. How strange to first say the words to a stranger and not to Nathan.

Oh, how I miss him already.


Compassion tinges Nick’s next words, “If he is a man worthy of such esteem, then I promise you, I will not be his enemy.” Errol flitts from his shoulder to bump his head under my chin. He chirrups encouragement and I can’t help but smile.


“Please,” Nick says softly, “tell me where he went.”